THE MAFIA BOSS FOUND HIS SON PROPOSING TO A TERRIFIED WAITRESS—THEN THE BOY REVEALED WHO SOLD HER

The drive through the rain-slicked city streets was conducted in absolute, suffocating silence.

Aurora sat in the back of the armored black SUV, flanked by tinted, bulletproof glass on one side and Zayn on the other. The little boy had refused to sit anywhere else; his small head was already resting heavily against Aurora’s ribs, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion claimed him. Aurora rested her uninjured hand gently over his back, feeling the steady, fragile rhythm of his breathing.

In the front passenger seat, Kian sat like a monolith carved of stone. He hadn't spoken a word since they boarded the vehicle. He watched the rearview mirrors with relentless, calculating focus, his tattooed fingers drumming a slow, ominous cadence against his knee.

When the heavy wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate groaned open, Aurora’s breath hitched.

The estate rose out of the mist like a gothic fortress draped in modern opulence. Massive granite pillars supported a sprawling stone mansion, surrounded by manicured grounds that looked pristine even under the pouring rain. Armed men in identical charcoal suits stood beneath the covered portico, snapping to attention the moment the SUV’s tires crunched across the pea gravel.

"He's asleep," Aurora whispered softly as the engine died, not wanting to disturb the boy.

Before she could figure out how to maneuver without waking him, the rear door swung open. Kian stood there. Without a word, he leaned into the car, his broad shoulders blocking the rain, and scooped Zayn into his arms with an effortless, tender grace that completely contradicted his brutal aura.

"Come inside," Kian commanded quietly, turning his back to lead the way.

Aurora stepped out into the chill night air, feeling hopelessly out of place in her rumpled waitress uniform and flat black shoes. She hurried behind him, following the wide sweep of his back up the marble stairs and through towering mahogany doors into a cavernous foyer lit by a cascading crystal chandelier.

An elderly housekeeper appeared instantly, bowing her head. "Sir."

"Take Zayn to bed, Martha. Prepare the master suite's sitting room. Bring the medical kit," Kian instructed without breaking his stride. He transferred the sleeping child into the woman's arms with lingering care, kissing the top of Zayn’s head before stepping away.

As the housekeeper carried Zayn up the grand staircase, Aurora found herself alone with the underworld's most feared kingpin in a hall of polished stone and looming shadows.

"Sit," Kian said, gesturing to a low leather sofa near a roaring fireplace.

Aurora hesitated, then crossed the room and sat stiffly on the edge of the cushion. The warmth of the fire lapped at her cold skin, coaxing the aches in her body to flare in sharp protest. Her wrist was swollen now, a sickly mottled blue.

Kian didn't wait for the housekeeper. He retrieved a sleek mahogany medical box from a side table and knelt before her, just as his son had done less than an hour ago. The parallel made Aurora’s throat tighten.

"Give me your hand," he ordered softly.

"I can do it myself, Mr. Moretti," she resisted quietly, pulling her arm back. "You've already done more than enough."

Kian caught her wrist in midair. His grip was immense, yet feather-light, applying zero pressure to the bruised flesh. He looked up, his pale gray eyes pinning her in place.

"I don't like repeating myself, Aurora."

He unscrewed a jar of soothing salve and began to apply it with astonishing precision. His large, calloused hands—inked with dark roses and skulls all the way down to the knuckles—were impossibly gentle. Every brush of his skin against hers sent a strange, electric tremor through her veins.

"Why did you say yes to him?" Kian asked suddenly, his voice quiet over the crackle of the hearth. "To Zayn. You didn't know who he was. You had a weapon in your hand. You were terrified."

Aurora stared at his bent head, watching the firelight dance across the dark stubble of his cheek.

"He was just a little boy," she said, her voice dropping to a fragile whisper. "He looked so brave, trying to protect a stranger. If saying yes gave him peace in a terrifying room... I would have said it a hundred times."

Kian’s movements stilled for a fraction of a second. Slowly, he looked up, his gaze searching her fair face, lingering on the honest sincerity in her soft hazel eyes. Something profound and dangerous shifted in his expression.

Before he could speak, the secure satellite phone on his belt buzzed with a harsh, rhythmic vibration.

Kian didn't break eye contact as he answered it, sliding the device to his ear. "Speak."

The voice on the other end was frantic, loud enough for Aurora to catch the frantic cadence of gunfire in the background.

*"Boss—Tony Vane’s men just hit the downtown restaurant. They didn't find the girl, so they torched it. Tony left a message on the glass in spray paint: 'Tell Kian I'm coming to collect my bride.'"*

Kian’s jaw tightened until the tendons in his neck looked like taut steel cables. He stared at Aurora, his voice dropping into an icy abyss.